


everything i do not mean

by tanyart



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, M/M, Pre-Canon, Pre-Game(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-25
Updated: 2016-06-25
Packaged: 2018-07-18 02:00:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7294960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tanyart/pseuds/tanyart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There isn’t much difference between a sober Jack, and a completely wasted Jack.</p>
            </blockquote>





	everything i do not mean

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Overwatch kinkmeme! Original prompt [here](https://overwatch-kink.dreamwidth.org/679.html?thread=14503#cmt14503).
> 
> Title comes from the song, [Dark Times](http://trxcklist.tumblr.com/post/142476049540) (The Weeknd feat. Ed Sheeran).

There isn’t much difference between a sober Jack and a completely wasted Jack. Gabriel can only assume that it’s the super soldier training in them that makes it very difficult to get drunk. In fact, he’s sure of it, with the fast metabolism and other biological modifications they had been subjected to. Gabriel hasn’t exactly tested the new limits of _his_ alcohol tolerance yet, but he’s already six beers in and he still feels steady enough to fire a round of headshots from on command. A few years ago four drinks would have been enough to get a buzz going, and definitely enough for a couple of misfires and only a single headshot out of sheer luck.  
  
Next to him, Jack gulps down another bottle of cheap vodka with the kind of satisfaction that’s usually reserved for cold water after a very long workout. Gabriel thinks it might have been his fifth bottle by now. He also thinks about the tab, and sneaks a glance at the bartender, and then at the very large pile of credits in her tip jar, presumably from Jack. The bartender doesn’t so much as blink as she tosses Jack another bottle of vodka. And Jack, super soldier that he is, catches it with perfect form.  
  
“Hey, Reyes, you doing alright?” Jack nudges him, all friendly concern. His shoulder stays pressed against Gabriel’s arm and he leans in, barstool scraping quietly beneath him.  
  
“I’m fine,” Gabriel says, nudging him back. The closeness is familiar and secretive, like being back on one of their missions together. The sway of movement makes Jack’s sigh flit over his skin, raising hairs on his arm, before Jack eases up again. “Don’t really like anything on tap.”  
  
“Hate to break it to you, Reyes, but you’re on your sixth beer,” Jack says, frowning, then continues with absolute seriousness, “Should’ve switched to tequila three drinks ago.”  
  
The bar is loud, bustling with customers and a million other things going on, but beside him Jack is quiet and focused. It’s odd. Jack doesn’t need to be focused. Neither of them need to be, not with their first round of successful missions completed. Chances to hang out and relax are hard to come by these days. Maybe a couple of years ago, they would have been more rowdy.  
  
But Gabriel hadn’t met Jack then, so he doesn’t know. Maybe Jack is just a naturally stoic drunk. Utterly grave until the bitter end, or at least until the bar runs out of alcohol to serve. Gabriel snorts. He’s going to miss getting wasted.  
  
“I don’t think even tequila is going to cut it anymore,” he says, shaking his head. “I don’t even know why you’re still trying.”  
  
Jack smiles, small and fleeting, and just when Gabriel thinks there might have been something off about that smile, Jack holds out his half-empty bottle of vodka.  
  
“Spirit of adventure, Gabe,” Jack replies, which doesn’t sound like a very rule-abiding Jack-like thing to say. The gruff, deadpan tone is right, but Gabriel swears there’s a hint of cheeriness.  
  
He pauses for half a second, but even half a second is too long between two genetically enhanced super soldiers. The bottle in Jack’s hand tips invitingly, though his grip on it is nothing but steady in front of Gabriel’s face.  
  
“Want some?” Jack offers, and he smiles again.  
  
And it’s not like Gabriel hasn’t seen Jack smile before. Jack laughs and jokes like the rest of them, and there had been plenty of times, so there’s no reason—no reason at _all_ —for Gabriel to look twice at Jack’s mouth, the flash of teeth and wry curve of his lips.  
  
“Sure,” Gabriel says, because what else is there to do? He takes the bottle, the rim still wet from Jack’s mouth, and drains it. He thinks Jack might be staring at his throat as he swallows the vodka but by the time he puts the bottle down, Jack is laughing.  
  
The burn from the alcohol is _nothing_ , nothing compared to...  
  
“Nice,” Jack says, slapping Gabriel’s back. His hand slides to his shoulder to give it a rough shake before letting go.  
  
It hits Gabriel all at once that this is _normal_. It all _looks_ normal. Anyone watching would see two guys, drinking and catching up, but nowhere near being drunk. Jack is six bottles of hard liquor in, his voice clear and gaze sharp, looking like he can play a game of darts and hit bullseye with every throw.  
  
But slow it down, and it’s there.  
  
It’s there like Jack leaning into his space for a moment too long, his barstool barely tipping an inch before he corrects it. Jack’s breath stopping for a moment when Gabriel nudges him back. Jack’s bottle hitting Gabriel’s lips. Jack calling him Gabe instead of Reyes. Jack laughing as Gabriel drinks, just _knowing_ , and noticing how Gabriel looks at him twice, looks at his _smile_ twice and how he smiles back, unguarded.  
  
And Gabriel realizes that he is, very possibly, a little bit drunk too. He looks down at his hands that don’t shake, with vision that doesn’t tilt or swim. Well. At least he’s not as far gone as Jack, who is just as poised—except for the way he glances at Gabriel, eyes bright, and ducks his head when Gabriel looks back with a glare.  
  
“You’re wasted,” he concludes, grim and serious.  
  
“Affirmative,” Jack says, almost sounding embarrassed by it. He raises his hand to grab the bartender’s attention for another bottle but Gabriel takes his wrist and pushes it back down.  
  
“I think you’ve had enough for now.”  
  
Jack’s mouth twists up to one side. “Think I might start leaking government secrets? Start a brawl?”  
  
_Never_ , Gabriel thinks. Jack is too good for that. “Worse. Flirting in public.”  
  
“Only with you,” Jack replies, earnest. He still has not moved. Not his hand from Gabriel’s grip, not his crooked, rueful smile.  
  
Gabriel’s skin is burning under Jack’s stare, but he rolls his eyes. He lets go of Jack’s wrist. “Exactly. Listen to yourself, you’re out of control.”  
  
“Well, if you think so,” Jack says, pulling out the last of his money for the tab. He counts the change perfectly, and still leaves enough for another generous tip.  
  
“That easy, huh?”  
  
“The only time you’ll catch me going easy on you, Reyes.”  
  
They walk out of the bar together. It’s dark, but the summer air is warm and heavy. There’s lingering stickiness from the humidity, typical of Dorado. Jack’s shirt clings to his skin, fabric riding up curve of his waist when he stretches. Strings of tiny lights hang above them and Gabriel thinks about how it’s all a little too surreal. His hands itch for another mission, not more downtime. He should be heading back to the new base, not doing… not _this_.  
  
But Jack asks, “Walk me back?”  
  
He looks perfectly capable of walking himself. His stance his wide, posture easy and confident. It sounds like he’s issuing a command rather than a suggestion.  
  
But to Gabriel, he sounds hopeful, as if he wasn’t even sober enough to tamper it down from his voice.  
  
Gabriel mutters, “Completely trashed. Absolutely _wasted_.”  
  
“Maybe I can act a little more drunk,” Jack says, ever helpful, and slings an arm around Gabriel’s shoulders. He pulls in close and tilts his head to Gabriel’s ear, lips not quite brushing skin. “You know. For authenticity.”  
  
Gabriel’s knees adjust to Jack’s pressing weight over his shoulders. It’s not much different from the other times they had to support each other during battle. His hand moves on its own to Jack’s waist. He should be used to this, but he can’t stop himself from letting out a rough laugh. Jack really _is_ drunk.  
  
“I don’t want to carry you,” he says, just to be difficult, but the top of Jack’s head bumps against Gabriel’s cheek, blond hair tickling his chin. Dorado is getting too warm now, and something that feels a little like defeat tugs in the back of his mind. “...Yeah, yeah. I’ll walk you home.”  
  
To Jack’s credit, he tries the drunken act. He stumbles, and one hand goes over to Gabriel’s chest, fingers just touching over the collar of his shirt. Gabriel can’t bring himself to stop it, even when Jack slumps his entire weight against him while laughing.  
  
“Goddammit, Morrison,” he grunts, trying to get a better grip. An unconscious body would be easier to carry, but less appealing. The walk back is going to be a slow one. “We’ll never make it at this rate. I’m going to have to knock you over the head and carry you.”  
  
“Carry me?” Jack repeats like it’s a good thing. He takes another clumsy step, swaying, and presses his face right over Gabriel’s pounding heart. His voice is muffled. “Heh. You’d do that?”  
  
Gabriel doesn’t answer. He can’t. He’s tongue-tied from Jack’s hands on his body and drunk in his own super-soldier way. They take a few more steps together before Jack’s lifts his head.  
  
“Hm, yeah. You’re right. This isn’t working out,” he admits, straightening. He eases away from Gabriel and starts walking by himself. His gait, predictably, is straight and steady. “C’mon.”  
  
Gabriel stands for a moment, off-balanced by Jack’s missing weight at his side and feeling like he’d been completely played. He resists the urge to growl in frustration. Jack has always been _efficient_ , especially now that he has a goal in mind—and Gabriel can take a few guesses on what that goal might be.  
  
So, against his better judgement, he walks with Jack the rest of the way.  
  
Jack’s temporary quarters is off base, more fitting for a tourist on vacation than a soldier on the field. It’s on the fourth floor of some homely complex and has a small balcony overlooking a bustling market plaza. Objectively speaking, it’s a nice little scouting spot. Gabriel briefly entertains the thought of Jack being on an undercover mission, for some reason. Maybe he is. Maybe that is how he’s able to visit Gabriel, who has been stationed in Dorado for the past few weeks.  
  
Jack stands in front of his opened door, one hand on the handle and the other over Gabriel’s wrist. He pulls, and Gabriel follows him in. And it’s easy. The door shuts behind them. Inside, the room is dark except for the way the plaza lights filter through the thin window curtains, casting hazy shadows over Jack’s silhouette.  
  
“So, since I’m drunk,” Jack begins, like he wants to clarify something. He faces Gabriel, one arm braced against the door. His head tilts like he already knows the answer to his next question. “Can I kiss you?”  
  
“Only that?” Gabriel asks, sarcastic, but he is being swept up in Jack’s bright gaze and how he can hear his smile in his voice. There’s something strange about Jack being playful and asking permission, pretending they haven’t been separated for months now, and that they have all the time in the world. But tomorrow Jack will be gone across the continent, back to work, with more missions with little to no communication.  
  
It cuts like a knife, realizing he’s been missing Jack. His hands over Jack’s shirt clenches into a fist, straining the fabric.  
  
Jack takes his silence for _yes_ , because Gabriel can only stare when Jack firmly pushes him until his back hits the door. He suddenly wonders about all the other ways this could have happened instead, like if they had waited too long to do something or not enough.  
  
But Jack caves in first. That’s the important part. When he kisses Gabriel, it’s slow and long. It’s Jack drinking in deep like Gabriel’s just another bottle of vodka to slam down. And Gabriel lets him, because it’ll be better this way.

The door creaks from behind, hinges not as tight as they should be. Gabriel realizes how quiet they are; either combat habits die hard, or they’re both doing something wrong. He can hear the soft rustling of their clothes better than he can hear their breathing. Jack eases up, not even breathless. There’s no flush to his face, drunken or otherwise, as if Gabriel is as ineffective on him as the alcohol.  
  
“Gabe?”  
  
It’s the damn super soldier training in them. It makes recovery happen in a blink of an eye. Gabriel frowns, trying hard not to read too much into Jack’s closed expression.  
  
“Yeah,” Gabriel says roughly, like he wants to clarify something, too. “Yeah, you can kiss me.”  
  
To his surprise, Jack’s face colors, so faint Gabriel could have mistaken it from the way the plaza lights have an off-red glow to them. Gabriel feels himself still, and then there’s the sound of Jack’s breath against his cheek.  
  
Jack tries again, kissing corner of Gabriel’s mouth, and Gabriel turns to it. It’s stupid, getting more worked up over something so innocent, but it reminds him of the bottle Jack had offered him, glass rim still warm on his lips. The wavering tilt of Jack’s chair. All those tiny mistakes leading up to this. He closes his eyes, lets out a soft growl that could have been another tiny mistake, and leans in for a proper kiss.  
  
And Jack has never been shy or tentative. He grins against Gabriel’s mouth and swallows laughter when Gabriel’s hand moves to the back of his head, grabbing onto the short strands of hair.  
  
“Had me worried for a second,” Jack says, mouth wet and neck craned back from Gabriel’s fist. His chest is heaving, cheeks flushed and eyes crinkled from something that looks a little like unexplained happiness. For the first time, he _looks_ drunk.  
  
“C’mon,” Gabe mutters, hoping he doesn’t sound as desperate as he feels. Jack _worrying_ is the most ridiculous thing. He’s got his hand in Jack’s hair, holding him back, but Jack has been pressing him against the door all this time, inching closer until his hips are resting against Gabriel’s own. If Jack can still feel anything at all, then he would’ve _known_ that there was nothing to worry about. He slides his thigh between Jack’s legs, pushing up. “Don’t fucking tease.”  
  
Jack’s stance wobbles as he grunts, weight shifting on and off Gabriel’s thigh. His breathing turns ragged, and he glances at Gabriel with a dark look.  
  
“Alright, I won’t.”  
  
It only occurs to Gabriel to release his tight hold over his hair before Jack yanks him up in return, both hands clasp on each side of his face. His teeth sink into Gabriel’s bottom lip, hard and vicious despite how it doesn’t draw blood. Gabriel suddenly can’t get air, can’t breathe with Jack so hungry for him. He shoves Jack, only enough to show he isn’t backing down, and comes right back to kissing him, jaw to neck.  
  
There’s no clumsy, drunken fumbling over their own clothes, only hands that move with intent and purpose. Jack can dismantle a rifle with his eyes closed in record time; Gabriel’s shirt and belt are off in seconds, pants loose at his hips.  
  
One of them bangs against a table, making its decorated vase shudder and tip. Somewhere in between Gabriel muttering a curse and clawing Jack’s shirt off, Jack catches the vase, rights it back up, still coordinated to do just that. He laughs, and Gabriel bristles, pushing Jack with another ferocious kiss, and the vase falls with a satisfying crash of broken porcelain.  
  
“You asshole,” Jack murmurs over Gabriel’s smug smile. Then, as if in retaliation, he drags him down. It’s almost a combat move, the way he grapples with Gabriel and throws his weight into it. They’ve must have sparred a million times, touched skin to skin a million times, but for once the moves don’t meet resistance.  
  
Gabriel doesn’t counter, but he goes down with him, digging his fingers into Jack’s back. Jack’s sharp intake of breath is as good as a moan when they hit the floor together, his arms around Jack’s shoulders and Jack’s teeth at his throat. The cold wooden floorboards shock Gabriel into arching upwards, makes him gasp for air--he hears Jack’s voice crack, “ _Gabe_ ”, and Gabriel feels the heat shoot down his spine.  
  
He wants Jack so bad, he’s almost past caring. It doesn’t matter if Jack still has the scent of alcohol on him and that his defenses are down, if only by a slight margin. Jack gets on his hands and knees, hovering over Gabriel, pinning him to the ground by the wrists. And, somehow, Gabriel stops caring about that too.  
  
Jack slumps forward, pressing his forehead to Gabriel’s. His eyes are closed, bright hot gaze out of sight for the moment. It’s quiet in the room again except for their breathing.  
  
“This would be easier if I could be drunk,” Jack admits, opening his eyes. “Like the real kind of drunk, you know?”  
  
Meaning the kind of drunk they can wake up to and not remember anything at all, and Gabriel doesn’t have to remember how Jack lowers his head to kiss him desperately, until it makes Gabriel moan and strain upwards under Jack’s hold.  
  
“God, shut up,” he gasps, and hooks a foot around the back of Jack’s legs, drawing him closer. When it isn’t enough, he wrenches one of his hands free to grab Jack’s ass until Jack’s hips are jerking into the curve of his thigh.  
  
“Gabe,” Jack groans, burying his face into Gabriel’s neck. His fingers hook to the seams of Gabriel’s pants and he bites down on Gabriel’s shoulder to get Gabriel to lift his hips long enough to pull the fabric down to his knees. He kisses him one more time on the mouth then another on his cheek, his forehead--Gabriel turns away and shuts his eyes, unable to process it, the light touches Jack gives him, so careful and almost sickly sweet.  
  
Jack huffs in quiet laughter, probably sensing some of Gabriel’s feelings. He lowers his head, movements becoming rougher, the way Gabriel prefers it. His mouth is hot as he makes his way down to Gabriel’s erection, where his hand has been slowly working over it, slicking the skin wet with Gabriel’s precome.  
  
Jack glances up, blue eyes flickering, lips close to Gabriel’s cock. He rests his cheek against Gabriel’s inner thigh, only for a second, but Gabriel’s goes blank from the sight. Before he can even make another noise, Jack runs his tongue up his cock and takes him in.  
  
Gabriel clenches his jaw, head falling back to hit the floor. He reaches out blindly, hand hitting air until Jack grabs it and moves it to the back of his head. Gabriel pulls at his hair, moaning as Jack gives a wordless noise from his throat. A hand pushes against his thigh, spreading him, and Gabriel can’t believe how good it feels to just obey.  
  
“Fuck, Jack, you’re-” he stutters, barely coherent. Even to his own ears he sounds slurred and delirious, but he feels Jack start against him, warm mouth pulling off his cock for a moment, and hears a soft whimper from below. He opens his eyes to see Jack with one hand around his own cock, touching himself, head bent low so that Gabriel can’t see his expression. And Gabriel will do anything to see it now. “ _Jack, please_.”  
  
He sounds broken. Jack looks up, mouth parted and shining wet, eyes no longer bright but darkening as he stares. Gabriel’s afraid he might have to repeat himself, but Jack’s mouth goes back to the head of his cock. His hand wraps around the base, thumb rubbing along the underside. Gabriel’s breathing turns into desperate gasps for air.  
  
“Jack,” he rasps, feeling his whole body on the edge, but Jack only moves his tongue around until Gabriel can’t say anything else. He thrusts into Jack’s mouth, small stuttering movements, and shudders through his orgasm as Jack suddenly jerks back.  
  
Jack coughs quietly, mouth dripping from Gabriel’s come, and spits to the side. He eases back, one hand pressed to his crotch. For the first time, he looks uneasy. A little less drunk than he should be. Pretends to be.  
  
Gabriel can barely speak, still laying on his back, but he groans, “You shit, get over here.”  
  
Jack practically scrambles next to him, looking all kinds of messy and wrecked. Gabriel doesn’t think he has ever heard a sound like that come out of Jack when he wraps his hand around Jack’s cock. He presses his mouth to Jack’s temple, murmuring things he wants to forget the moment he says them. It doesn’t take long for Jack to come, repeating Gabriel’s name over and over, and Gabriel already knows he’ll remember this for the rest of his days.  
  


+++

  
In the morning, Gabriel wakes up to the sound of Jack leaving his bed. He catches Jack put a hand to his head, almost like he really does have a hangover, and not as if he’s remembering the places Gabriel has kissed him. Jack glances at him, arm dropping back to his side.

“Rough night?” Jack asks ruefully.

Funny how alcohol works on them.

“Yeah,” Gabriel says, and leaves it at that.


End file.
